Tantalize
by strapped to a comet
Summary: The one relationship he never wanted is the one that accidentally crept into his heart. DeclanZhen. Post MI: 3.


Author's Note: Stupid. Little. Plot bunny. And for fans of Joss Whedon, see if you can catch the _Firefly_ reference here : ) Torture with a side of fluff.

Edited 7.23.07: I fleshed this out a bit more, softened up the language, and hopefully made it seem less jaunty, and more insightful. Anyway, if you've already read this, do read again – there's a fair bit more added. Changed the title, too, after the fleshing out of the fic seemed to alter the tone. That said, enjoy!

Spoilers: Yes, for the love of God. Don't read if you haven't seen MI3.

Warning: Language! Language! That is all. Oh, and some mild torture.

-#-

Tantalize

-#-

Her father always did say she'd do great (and reckless) things. Does getting caught and tortured count for something? And what of the heinous amount of C4 – enough to make a new Grand Canyon – which was sitting just meters away from her? In case being strapped to a chair like a dog and shot up with electricity for a quick impromptu high wasn't enough of a riot.

Well, someone'd screwed up. Zhen was certain of that.

How certain? 75 _volts_ certain.

And then there was the little detail of her covering Declan's ass when it could have just as easily been him sitting in her position right now. (And by the way, she still didn't know why she'd done that.)

See, Zhen didn't fancy herself a damsel in distress, and it killed her, (not to mention the millions of nerve endings all throughout her body), to know that she was now the epitome of that archaic stereotype. She only hoped Luther and Declan would be able to get her out before they fried one too many brain cells. She had Intel, and she knew IMF needed it. Badly.

They wouldn't disavow her – yet.

"You're certainly not CIA. I don't think they'd take on a little cunt like you," the interrogator commented, his eyes hidden behind dark shades. "A tantalizing prospect," he continued. His head tilted downward as if to survey the rest of her body, then snapped back up, "But a fruitless one, I'm afraid."

Zhen did her best not to recoil. Responding would have goaded him on, though she doubted that her body could take much more of his zap-and-question torture method.

The interrogator flipped the switch for about the twentieth time and Zhen nearly bit off her tongue from the pain that darted through every nerve ending in her body. She was amazed she hadn't gone into seizures yet. Her vision fizzed into darkness for a couple of seconds before her head lolled forward in utter exhaustion. Forcing her neck muscles to co-operate, she held up her head, wincing as her spine tingled in a now familiar after-effect all the way down to her toes.

She was fried, and her interrogator knew it, too.

_Now would be a great time to play that damsel card_, Zhen thought in a slight haze. _Get me outta here, guys._

-#-

"Blasted buggar of'a tech…do your fuckin' job already!" Declan muttered at the computer screen. Tracer programs were supposed to be reliable; at the moment, his was failing both he and Luther miserably. "Piece o'shite!" Declan swore under his breath, slapping the side of the computer screen.

"What are you, writing a novel, Dec?" Luther grunted over at his distracted comrade. It had been almost amusing, watching smooth-talking Gormley choke in a field situation, if Luther could forget that the situation involved the kidnap and probable torture unto death of their other comrade, Zhen Lei.

Luther and Gormley were gearing up with enough explosives to infiltrate Langley; all that was left was to locate Zhen's location. IMF had made it clear that they wanted whatever was on those flash drives, and since Zhen had hidden the flash drives…

"Why don't they just disavow her?" Declan exclaimed, glancing up at the computer screen to glower at Luther. "It'd sure as hell be easier than trying to break into the Spanish Underworld!" The man returned his attention to the computer screen, watching the hourglass cursor as he fitted a two-ways coms device into his equipment jacket.

Luther arched an eyebrow in disbelief as he slipped on a second Kevlar vest. "You _want_ IMF to leave her for dead?"

Declan paused in positioning the earpiece and Luther saw a flash of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Of course I fucking don't," Declan grit out at length, shoving a several extra magazines into his vest just for good measure. "But she knows the rules, doesn't she? Number being that you never, _ever_ cover for another agent if you've got the fucking prize."

"Maybe she didn't think the flash drives were the only thing _worth_ protecting," Luther said quietly.

Declan was saved from a response as the computer screen flashed with Zhen's location. "Costa del sol; we're twenty minutes out."

Luther nodded, tossing Declan a pair of night-vision goggles as he climbed into the front seat and drove. Fast.

_Hang on, girlie,_ Declan thought, as he and Luther sped down the highway in the dead of night. _We're comin'_.

-#-

Zhen could see the interrogator was losing his patience, and it wouldn't take much to crank up the voltage to a high enough degree where it'd turn her brain to soup.

"I ask again, Miss Gallo, where are the flash drives you stole from my client?" The interrogator asked in an eerily calm voice, hands folded in his lap as he sat across from Zhen. His accent was Middle Eastern, she could discern, even though the mission had gone down in Madrid.

" 'Stolen' implies…ownership, in the first place," Zhen spoke to distract the man as she focused on her peripheral vision while she let the rest of her body hang purposely limp.

The room, she estimated, was around eight feet in width and ten in length, twelve in height. Standard size, but what stood out was the distinct smell of brine that permeated the walls; she had to be near the coast. The only light in the room came from a dangling bulb, which illuminated, at most, a four-foot radius around her and the interrogator. If she could uncuff herself, and if her muscles didn't start going into spasms, she could take out the interrogator in the encompassing darkness. But that would imply she had a plan as how to get herself out of the cuffs in the first place, which, at the moment, she didn't.

"The only ownership I am concerned with is that of my client," the interrogator replied coolly. "Unless you wish to test your strength against 80 volts, I suggest you start co-operating. I'm on a tight schedule."

"If you're expecting guests…I can…come back later," Zhen said, hoping it would be enough. Her only regret was not being able to tell Declan that he looked horrible in that Hawaiian shirt he'd bought during his last R&R excursion through India.

Zhen felt the electricity smash into her senses and this time she heard teeth grind together in her skull. All thoughts of Gormley and Hawaiian shirts went out of her mind as she focused herself, letting her head drop to her chest and slowed her breathing. She smelled Madridian cigars as the interrogator leaned over to slap her awake; her head curled forward at lightning speed to connect with the bridge of her captor's nose, and she swore she heard something crack satisfyingly.

Gunfire erupted from somewhere behind a door she couldn't see in the darkness, but she didn't waste any time figuring the odds she had of making it out of there alive; perhaps the men who grabbed her decided she was expendable, even though she hadn't breathed a word of information. As the interrogator slumped to the floor, she caught his glasses and unwound the tiny screw that held the bridge piece to the dark lenses. In a matter of seconds, the cuffs were off. She bent down to peel off the duck tape that kept her ankles bound to the chair, battling a wave of vertigo as she tilted her head at a steep angle.

Next came disarming the C4 she'd first spotted when she had woken up, gagged and bound in the interrogator's room. Zhen realized then that the explosives had been alternative clean up – in case disposing of her corpse was too troublesome for whoever had kidnapped her in the first place.

_Hate to be such a burden, _Zhen smirked. She shuddered as she disconnected the last few wires that combined the explosives into a lethal force.

Turning around, she unholstered the Beretta at the interrogator's belt and unclasped the watch around his wrist – 3:24 AM. She had lost five hours to torture and interrogation. Her head began to swim in thick exhaustion.­

_Damn_, Zhen thought.

She raised the gun, aimed at the interrogator's head, and fired. At the same time, a door burst open to her left, and light spilled into the dank room.

-#-

Declan was fifteen feet from the door when he heard a single gunshot resound from inside, that didn't belong to the earlier assault he had run into on his way into the below-grounds building. His heart leapt in fear for his teammate's life as he kicked the door in. And there stood Zhen, gun in hand, her faced slashed with blood, pale white skin and long dark hair matted with sweat and dirt. He could have called her an angel.

The light that spilled into the room momentarily blinded her as she shielded her eyes with the arm that wasn't gripping the gun. With surprising accuracy she aimed it at Declan's chest, blind as she was.

"Whoa, slow down there, Zhen." Declan spoke slowly, but with an urgent tone as he walked towards her, arms raised.

"Gormley?" Her voice was cracked as her body shuddered involuntarily.

What the fuck had the interrogator done to her? Declan spared a quick glance at the electrical machine beside the two chairs in the room, and then at the crumpled form on the floor – the once breathing interrogator – and couldn't help the wicked grin that spread across his features. _Good girl._

Snapping back to the present operation, Declan took another few quick steps towards Zhen as she slowly, exhaustedly, dropped the gun. The Beretta in her clutch clattered to the ground; Declan took it as a good sign that the gun didn't accidentally fire off in the room. Zhen collapsed and would have hit the floor if he hadn't caught her.

"Observer, I have the prize. On our way," Declan breathed relief as he swung his unconscious comrade up into his arms and made for the door. "Evac in sixty seconds."

-#-

When Zhen's eyes fluttered open, her gut reaction was to reach for the gun that was always holstered at her waist. As her hand grasped air, she felt a dull pain pulse at the base of her neck that slowly ebbed out over her entire body. Zhen groaned, forcing her eyes to adjust to annoyingly bright fluorescent lights.

"Rise and shine, Lei."

"Luther?" Zhen mumbled in a cracked voice. Her throat felt dry beyond belief, but that didn't compare to the dull ache she felt at the base of her neck, which consequently seemed to root itself in every bone in her body as she took a few unsteady breaths.

"Water," she croaked out.

Luther nodded in understanding as he poured her a glass from the pitcher on the bedside stand.

"You are one tough girl, I'll give you that," the older man's voice commented in a wry tone as he watched his fellow agent down the drink of water in two gulps. "I'd take castration over someone messin' with my brain any day," he said, referring to the electrical torture method Zhen had endured for what seemed like days.

Zhen appreciated the compliment, evne if it was a little rough around the edges. Then again, that was Luther. The water helped clear her head a little, and as soon as she comprehended what Luther's presence meant – she wasn't dead, her team had recovered her – the next words that came out of her mouth were, "Flash drives."

"Tech's sifting through 'em now," Luther replied. "Once we decoded your message, it didn't take us long to find where you hid them." Luther smirked, remembering the slip of paper the nurses had found in the fold of Zhen's pants when they'd first brought her back to IMF. "Guess you were just a bonus."

"Thanks, Luther," Zhen was able to get out, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Brassel should be in later for debriefing–"

"Everyone made it out all right? You and Declan?" Zhen asked, ignoring the uncharacteristic urgency in her tone.

Luther gave her an odd look at the latter half of her questions, but she pretended to ignore that as well. At the man's affirmative nod, she continued, "When can I get back in the field?"

Luther shot her an amused glance before chuckling a little. "The doc said there wasn't any permanent damage; tremors, maybe, a few after effects from the unscheduled shock therapy you received. You'll be discharged in a couple of days, I guess." With that, Luther rested a hand on Zhen's shoulder, then turned and left his healing comrade to rest.

Zhen heard the door close behind Luther, and didn't register the few seconds' delay in it shutting as she turned her head towards the wall opposite the entrance, letting her eyes close.

She was asleep almost instantly with the knowledge that she hadn't failed her team or IMF.

Or Declan, for that matter.

-#-

Luther was coming out of Zhen's hospital room when Declan caught up with him. No words were exchanged between the two men, but Luther gave the Irishman a knowing look as he stepped out of the room, holding the door for Declan. Luther's solemn face conveyed the words he didn't voice; _Be careful. Good luck. I'll keep this quiet, because you're a good agent, because you're a friend. _Declan nodded at Luther, grateful as Luther began walking down the hall, letting the door shut softly behind him.

During the mission, Declan had been running on pure adrenaline – he had a mission to complete, however unorthodox the acknowledgement of a captured agent was at IMF, and he couldn't deny the heavy weight that Zhen's resting form lifted from his shoulders. The adrenaline gone, unanswered questions had begun to fill his head, but it didn't keep him from visiting her, even if she would never know he had come.

Because, in truth, he had a lot to work out. Luther's comments, coming from the perspective of a man who had tried to make relationships work in the past, had gotten him thinking. Down a path he couldn't follow, Declan admitted, but a path that tantalized him with its possibilities.

He studied her face, without its customary guarded expression and tough exterior. He didn't begrudge her the protection that kind of persona afford her; she was a female agent in a line of work dominated by men – and a capable female, at that, despite her recent capture. She had, after all, covered his ass, and he had made a point to convey that fact during his debriefing with Brassel.

Declan decided that she looked younger, softer, when she wasn't working against gender bias and taking out the bad guys on their missions together. Those missions could be a problem in the future, if this new path Luther had illuminated for him became any more alluring than just simply watching from a distance painted it to be. But, for now . . .

Declan watched on silently as Zhen slept, his own words echoing back at him.

_We can't have real relationships…but you see, I love that._

No, he really didn't.


End file.
